Blood is Thicker than Water
by PrussianVitals
Summary: What if someone gave an identity to Jack the Ripper? This may just be the weirdest plot twist yet.


_Slice._ A strangled scream.

 _Slice._ Another strangled scream.

A rip of the flesh, a pull of the guts; all these things made for the perfect murder. And oh how beautiful the sight was. The murderer sat back, admiring his handy work. He had transformed this ugly creature into a beautiful specimen, in just minutes. The body grew limp, and the killer savored the way that the muscles relaxed in his hands.

" _James! The inspectors are coming,"_ a voice hissed from down the alley.

The killer made a quick escape, leaving the victim gasping for air, awaiting the sweet escape of death.

Cassyon clenched his fists, his face falling into an almost permanent frown.

"You're going to give yourself stress wrinkles if you keep doing that, Constable Brieley.

"I already have plenty," Cassyon shot back, pulling out a rolled cigarette and lighting it between his teeth.

"It's because of _him,_ isn't it? I know you better than you know yourself, Cassy." The lieutenant cooed, running her fingers through the Constable's hair - hair that had been grayed before its time. At this rate, Cassyon would have a heart attack before he reached his thirties.

The bloodied sight before him left no room for remorse. Whoever had done it, had savored every single moment, every single slice of the flesh. Cassyon had seen many murders in his time as a law enforcer, but oh God, nothing could compare to the horrors this case delivered. The throat had been sloppily cut, the rust of the blade encrusted in the dried blood, the victim gutted while still breathing and thrashing, with her entrails strung about like they were in the place of decorations or only the finest gold jewelry. The killer had taken great care in his work, making it a goal to draw the death and torment out for as long as possible, despite the apparent lack of surgical skill required to make a clean cut. Cassyon's team had been put in charge of the case, appropriately dubbed the 'Ripper Murders'. He had grown inpatient and more desperate with every victim killed. Over the course of five years, 36 girls wouldn't be coming home. 36 women and children, too poor to have a proper funeral, tossed out by the morgue after not being claimed. 36 families too afraid to give names to the mangled and distorted faces, fearing that 'the Ripper' would come after the rest of them.

Cassyon paced back and forth along the crime scene. He became aware of himself screaming " _how many more have to die?"_ over and over again in his head. He could almost hear the screams of the victims right before they took their final breath. They haunted him in his sleep. Perhaps that's why people mistake him for his father.

"Cassyon," a voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Cassyon, look," lieutenant Skidds uncurled the victim's fingers and twisted her wrist, a difficult feat due to the rigor mortis that was already setting in. A crumpled note lay wedged in her palm. Skidds passed it over to Cassyon with an expectant look. He uncrumpled the note and furrowed his brow. Passing over the note back to Veronica Skidds, he let out a contempt sigh.

"It's maths? Do you suppose it was left by the Ripper?"

Cassyon ran a hand through his hair. "Regardless, we should bring it back to Dr. Rackham. He's good with mathematics, isn't he?"

The lieutenant gave a slight nod before calling the team to pack up the body and take it back to the lab.

 **II**

"Constable Brieley, _Constable Brieley."_ The short doctor buzzed around the lab, jotting notes down on paper. Cassyon raised an eyebrow and grunted softly.

"Yes? What did you find?"

Dr. Rackham's eyes flashed with excitement, and he struggled to keep still.

"Look at these numbers. What do you notice?"

Cassyon eyed him for a bit, before running his index finger along the series of numbers on the aged paper.

"I...I don't notice anything; they're just numbers."

The doctor shook his head.

"It's a code. The graph is encrypted with a code," he pointed to the vertex, "this is the start of the code. If we plug in the alphabet, starting with the letter A, we get different outputs; that's what the numbers are for."

Veronica leaned her hands against the counter, shooting Cassyon a glance.

The doctor took that as a hint to keep going.

"With that in mind, I already started on transfering the inputs do the outputs. If I am correct, which I usually am, then the code states thus:

" _The blood of the Covenant is thicker than the water of the Womb. Isn't that how the old saying goes? Well, things change, and I'd say the relationship with my wife has expired. I expect I'll be seeing you soon. Until then, Cassy."_

Underneath the sentences of writing were numbers scrawled in small point. _52.23N .238E_ There was a moment of silence in the room. Cassyon was the first to break it, clearing his throat.

"What are these? Coordinates? To where?"

The doctor gave a small chuckle.

"I was waiting for you to ask that!"

He reached into a drawer, pulling out a recent map of England. It couldn't have been more than a year old, they had just performed a census and all the maps had been redrawn with the updated territories. Dr. Rackham traced his fingers along the latitude and longitude lines, meeting in the middle of the coordinates left by the killer.

"33 Quy Road, Lode, Cambridge, Cambridgeshire CB25 9EY, UK"

There was a moment of silence in the room. Cassyon was the first to break it, clearing his throat. A small smile appeared on his face.

"Let's go catch our killer."

 **III**

"James, your breakfast is ready!"

James Sinnett considered himself many things. Smart, deceiving, resourceful. A morning person was not one of them. But with his insomnia, he found it hard to get any sleep at all. He blinked a few times before pulling the covers off and sitting up in bed. He looked at his reflection in the glistening washboard, admiring the fresh scratch on his face from his last victim. The overwhelming scent of cinnamon porridge filled the dorm, and James made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. He eyed his wife for a moment, not having any intention of eating anything that witch made. The anger radiating off of him could power half of the textile mills in London, but Vivian was too clueless and caught in her massive love of James to notice.

" _Witch."_

"Hm?" his wife turned around, the excitement of even being in the same room as James apparent in her eyes.

"You're a _witch_ ," James spat, eyes glazed cold.

"Oh, James. You jest!" Vi snickered, leaning against the counter.

James made a move, starting towards his wife.

"You have been conspiring against me, helping that fool _Cassyon,_ and his even more foolish team," he spoke the name as if it put a foul taste in his mouth, dripping with venom.

Vivian's brows furrowed with worry. She shook her head and her hands gathered the apron she wore in her fists.

"I would do no such thing, James. Why do you blame me?"

He got closer.

"I'm not blaming, I'm speaking the truth. You witch of a woman, entrancing me in your grip. The name 'Viper' suits you."

James stood directly in front of Vi, leaning in so close his very breath sent shivers down her spine. Quick like a viper, Vivian made a dash to the side. James caught her in his arms, throwing her down on the ground. A cast iron pan lay on the counter, and James grabbed in in his hands, striking his wife hard upon the head. She twitched once, curling in fetal position in an attempt to protect her head. He balled her hair into his fists, dragging her across the length of the kitchen floor. She screamed and kicked, bringing her hands up to James' wrists to alleviate the pull of her hair.

"You think me a fool? You think me stupid? I won't be affected by anymore of your trickery!" James was yelling now. Though she was his wife, he was not gentle. He had spent years enduring her, putting up with her obsession. He must admit, he admired being treated as a god, but that didn't do anything to compensate for the hatred he had for her at this moment. While she was useful in acting as a lookout, her usefulness had expired. And so would she.

He gave her another sharp bash on the head with the cast iron. She grew limp, but he was nowhere close to done. The anger he had pent up for five years was unleashed full throttle. Acting solely on his feelings, he continued to bash his wife on the head, harder and harder each time.

 _Wack._

 _Wack._

 _Wack._

The stone of the kitchen floor was coated in a thick layer of dark blood. She had long since stopped struggling, but James did not stop. His one goal was to leave his wife unrecognizable. Her skin had to be completely covered in bruises, her face mangled from the beating and blood, the beautiful dress she wore to impress James stained in sweet red.

" _Ripper, stop!"_ A bang went off, and James felt a sharp pain in his side. He dropped the skillet, clutching his side.

The lieutenant pulled James off Vi. It was surprisingly easy. James didn't struggle or fight back. He had a sick smile on his face as he stared back at those dead eyes, glazed over in horror. There was something else in those eyes..was it admiration? It made James sick to his stomach.

"You're under arrest for the murder of thirty six women, and for the murder of your wife." The lieutenant held James as Cassyon put the handcuffs on James. Cassyon expected James to regret killing his wife. He himself couldn't imagine ever hurting his wife or daughter, but that proved that this monster was even less of a human than he thought. Cassyon was at a loss for words. It was harder to articulate in front of this criminal than expected. Suddenly, the young constable's blood ran cold. There was not a hint of remorse or fear on the killer's face. This monster was smiling. _He was enjoying it._

"Well, Cassy," snorted James, "are you going to hang me?"


End file.
